The S-Word (26 page)

He’s working out a battle inside him. I can see it in the way he shakes. “I really want to help you.”

I open the window for him. “You can’t.”

“Just promise me one thing.” He’s staring at the glass. He’s staring like he knows, once he leaves, he’s never coming back. “Don’t go after Drake by yourself.” He looks over at me, still hopeful.

“Aw, honey. Don’t you worry about that.”

Jesse zips up his sweatshirt, bracing himself against the darkness. But me, I don’t even feel it.

It’s already so much a part of me.

W
EDNESDAY MORNING I
manage to avoid Drake’s many calls. His texts are getting angrier in my inbox. But the only one I care about comes in from a number I don’t recognize. It says: DaddyMac6969.

Looks like Shelby came through on her end of the bargain.

I send her a quick response and head to the bleachers. I’m hoping to cut off a couple of Cheer Bears before they get to Cheer Central. I catch them halfway across the football field, arms linked, doing that faux-lesbian thing guys think is hot. Cara’s whispering so close to Elliot’s ear she’s practically nibbling on it. Her dark hair blends with Elliot’s red. A couple of runners have stopped to watch.

“Sexy ladies,” I yell, jogging to catch up to them. “Hold up.”

I put my arms around their shoulders and they part to let me in.

“Hey, babe,” says Elliot.

Ugh. Do not call me that.

Cara says “I’m glad you’re not mad about Drake,” right off the bat.

“He’s not worth it,” I say with a snort. Cara may be on my shit
list but she still deserves better than him. Everyone does. “If you know what I mean.”

She grins. “Point taken.”

“Good. So, last night I had the best idea,” I say as the bleachers come into view. Kennedy’s watching us from up above. No doubt she suspects I’m up to something. “You know how we decorated those T-shirts the first day of the year?” We wrote things like
Seniors Rule!
and
See Ya, Suckas!
“I thought we could do something on our graduation gowns. Something about the squad. Or even . . .” I glance at the bleachers, biting my lip tentatively. “About Kennedy?”

“To show her how much we love her?” Elliot gushes.

“That’s so sweet!” Cara agrees. For an instant, I feel sorry for them. As beautiful as they are, either one would kill to be Kennedy. Both are going to Colorado State so they can be close to her.

“What should we say?” Elliot chews on a strand of hair.

“Something simple,” I reply. “It has to be short, so it’ll fit.”

“Hey.” Cara turns to me. I can tell by her widened eyes that she’s falling right into my trap. “What if we each did one word? Like”—she points to each of us—“We. Love. Kennedy.” Naturally, she assigns
Kennedy
to herself.

“That’s brilliant.” I clap my hands. “But we can’t let her find out.”

“We can keep a secret,” Elliot promises.

“I know you can. We just have to find a way to get the gowns tonight instead of tomorrow.”

“That Shelby girl’s sorting them,” Elliot says. “Isn’t she in your Drama class?”

“Oh, yeah.” I nod like the wheels in my head are turning. “Yeah, maybe I can get her to give them to me.”

“Steal them if you have to!” Cara tugs my arm. “We
have
to do this.”

“I agree,” I say as we approach the bottom of the bleachers. “We have to.”

Kennedy glares as we ascend. It’s clear she’s ready for a fight. All I have to do is point her in a different direction . . .

“Hello, darling.” I practically sit in her lap.

She speaks casually but the words tickle my spine. “What are you girls cooking up?”

Cara and Elliot are guilty-conscience pale, but me? I’m cool as a cucumber. “Peace and love brownies?”

Kennedy chuckles. “Keep joking. I dare you.”

“Okay, I’ll level.” I smile at the girls. “I needed their opinion. I heard something that might upset you.”

“Oh really? And what’s that?”

I glance at the other girls on the bleachers. They sprawl around her like a Royal Cheer Court. I wonder what they’re going to do without their uniforms. “I think you’d appreciate discretion on this one.”

Kennedy smiles at her subjects. “Like there’s anything you can’t say in front of my girls.”

“All right, fine.” I shrug. “Remember that story you told me? About the guy with the sketchpad who caught you in a—”

“Okay, let’s walk.” Kennedy jumps up faster than I can say “compromising position.” Her arm slips around my shoulders like our chat will be friendly. “What did you hear?” she asks when we’re a good distance away.

“It was Marvin Higgins.”

“You serious? That little—”

I cut her off. “There’s more. All signs point to him being the one who made that playing card of Lizzie. He’s her neighbor, Kenn.”

“Wasn’t he into her?”

“Oh, yeah. He thought they were, like, soul mates.”

“Then she chose Drake—”

“And it looks like Marvin flipped. But don’t worry, I’m taking care of it.”

“What exactly are you planning?” she asks, eyes narrowing. She really does look menacing, even with the ponytail. It’s a talent.

“Nothing crazy,” I say with a laugh. “Don’t get your invisible panties in a twist. It’s sort of an eye-for-an-eye–type scenario.”

She watches me a minute. “Well, I’m not going to tell you to leave Marvin alone,” she says finally. “That pervert made his own bed. But don’t go after my girls.”

I wave my hand, like that’s
totally different.
“Don’t be so paranoid. I was just warning Cara about Drake. You should’ve seen them at her party; he was totally taking advantage.”

“Apparently that’s his game.”

“Funny how people hear things and no one talks about it.”

“Just a rumor.” She turns back to the bleachers. I expect her to flip that ponytail in my face.

But when she doesn’t leave immediately, I step closer. “Have you given any thought to what I said? I mean, the other day . . .”

She tenses, keeping her back to me. Her hair is blowing in the wind. “Yes.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Plenty.”

“I’d go with you, you know. If you decided to talk to the police.”

“Well, I appreciate that.” She inhales. I can see it as much as I can hear it. “Give me a few more days.”

TEN MINUTES LATER,
I find Drake stationed in front of my sixth-period class. He’s wearing his letterman jacket and rolled-up jeans. I smile like I’m happy to see him.

“Where have you been?” His voice is gruff.

“Extra-special busy,” I say, tapping his chest. “But I haven’t forgotten about you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He leans in. “What the hell happened?”

“My dad happened. He caught me leaving the house with my bikini in my hand. I guess I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m so used to living with Mom.”
Lie!
“He forbade me from going to your house.”

“He forbade you?”

“He took away my phone!”
Mega lie!
“Hilarious, huh?”

“Why are you even staying with him?”

“He misses me.”

Drake pouts like he thinks he’s pretty. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”
Biggest lie of all!
“But I’m going back to Mom’s soon.” I play with his collar. It’s like sticking my hand in a bucket of maggots.

“How soon?”

“Saturday. After graduation. I’ll come over after and we can have a party in our graduation gowns.
Only
our gowns,” I add.

He grins. “We can pick them up tomorrow, right?”

“I’m going to get mine tonight. I can get yours too if you want.”

“How?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve got to go,” I say, backing away. “I’ve got a final with Salinger the Sadist.”

Drake laughs. “Guy’s not so bad. You never gave him a chance.”

“He thinks Columbus got a bad rap.” I duck into the room before he can kiss me. I really don’t need to vomit on the last day of class.

The first thing I see is Jesse. He’s wearing a green thrift-store dress with black Converse. It’s probably the cutest thing I’ve ever
seen. I want to take my final in his lap. To counter this feeling I sit two rows in front of him. My teacher smirks, like,
too little too late.
Screw him. He just
loves
giving a final on the last day of school, doesn’t he?

I must do an okay job on the test. I finish twenty minutes before the end of class. Old Sal barely looks up as I set it on his desk. He’s too focused on his book. It’s probably a manual on medieval torture practices.

I grab my stuff and excuse myself to the bathroom. Jesse’s text comes in when I’m passing through the door.

“How’d you do?”

I reply, “Don’t text during a test!”

“Aw, you really do care.”

“I’m serious. He’ll fail you.”

“Small price to pay.”

I don’t respond. I want to but I can’t. I run the water from the faucet over my hands until it gets too hot. Then I run it over my hands some more. My skin is turning red when his next message comes in.

“Just think of what you’re giving up.”

Can’t respond. Can’t.

“Think of lying in bed together,” he says.

Why won’t this water get any hotter? My hands are screaming, but the pain isn’t enough. Nothing hurts like his words.

“Wrapped up together,” he says.

Maybe he’s done with his test. He has to be done with his test.

“I don’t deserve it,” I say.

He responds quickly. “What about me?”

“You deserve better.”

“That’s my decision,” he says.

“I’m sorry. It isn’t.”

I turn off my phone. I almost throw it in a toilet. I cannot wait
for this day to end. I do the hot-water thing one more time and then I leave the room.

In Drama class, I perform my monologue with a newfound understanding of why Lizzie chose it. Madame Swarsky gives me a standing ovation. Shelby applauds heartily beside her. I think she’s afraid I’m going to bail on my side of our bargain. But when the bell rings I follow her to the auditorium like a good girl. We spend the next hour putting the boxes of graduation gowns in alphabetical order.

Around one thirty Shelby looks like she’s going to pass out. Poor girl’s run herself ragged this week. When I offer to finish up she looks at me like I’m crazy, but she’s too tired to argue. Really, it’s like taking candy—well, you know how the saying goes.

I’m done by two thirty and at the grocery store by three. I pick up some fresh chili peppers and a card with Jesus on the front. Inside the card I advise Mr. Hart to please disengage from activities that put him in contact with children. If he fails to comply, I write, I will be forced to share his secrets with the congregation.

I sign it “A Concerned Parent” and drop it off at the post office.

I’m back at Mom’s house by four. I don’t even think she noticed I stayed at Dad’s a few extra days. But she does notice the smell of chili peppers as I set to work in the kitchen. It pulls her right out of her TV coma.

She holds her sleeve over her face, standing in the doorway. “What the hell are you making?”

I turn and smile. “It’s a surprise.”

“I’m not eating that.”

“It’s not for you.” I push her playfully into the living room. “I can’t bother with dinner tonight. I have too much work.”

“I thought school ended today.” She flumps back onto the couch.

“It did. But I’m planning something for graduation.” I’m already disappearing into the kitchen again.

“Don’t run yourself ragged, honey,” she says.

Good advice. A little late, but good.

“I’ll try.”

It takes about half an hour to be satisfied with my witches’ brew. From there, I head to my bedroom to work on Marvin’s photograph.

Twenty minutes later, I’m emailing him the Photoshopped picture of himself in his underwear, complete with wizard’s cap and magic wand. The caption reads: See You at Graduation.

I want him to know the photo’s going to be passed around.

Now all that’s left is to spin straw into gold. I want to add a little something extra to the graduation gowns I took home early. Shelby should have known better than to leave me alone with such precious cargo. She should, at least, have told Madame Swarsky I was giving her a hand. Now when a group of us show up with vandalized gowns, Shelby will be the number one suspect. From there, it’s barely a leap in logic to assume she destroyed the costume Lizzie was supposed to wear, and I have to imagine that’ll affect Swarsky’s letter of recommendation.

I’m humming as I paint fat red letters on the back of three gowns. I cover the letters with glitter. Why not go all out? This is graduation after all. And Cara, Elliot, and I will be the belles of the ball.

Yeah. One of the gowns is mine.

Once my handiwork has dried I cut an old black skirt into squares. I pin the squares over the words I’ve painted. The gowns are black so the patches aren’t too obvious. I don’t want anyone seeing our message until the exact right time: after the ceremony is completed, the Cheer Bears have a tradition of rushing the stage
and doing an impromptu routine in our gowns. You know, so everyone sees how fabulous we are one last time.

Egotistical? Yes. An important detail in my plan? Also, yes.

Once our routine is completed, Cara, Elliot, and I will turn around, showing the whole school one last message:

WE KILLED LIZZIE

I hang the gowns in the back of my closet before taking Drake’s out of its box. The back is pristine, black and shining in the light. When I’m done with it, it will be branded, and that brand will seep into its owner, staining him for life. He’ll never get away from it.

Whoever said there’s no justice in the world wasn’t trying hard enough.

T
HURSDAY I GET
a surprise visitor at Mom’s door. Marvin shows up at eight in the morning. I answer the door in a tank top and sweats and I still look better than he must feel.

It’s pretty obvious he’s been crying.

“Yeah?” I’ve been doing the Ice Queen thing for so long it’s starting to become second nature. But I step aside and let him sit on the couch because, well, I’m not heartless. I think I’d like to be, since it would make life easier, but, alas, I am not.